


Sunrise

by about_5d100_cats



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/F, the cats are gay, what do i put here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 15:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7538134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/about_5d100_cats/pseuds/about_5d100_cats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small collection of stories tied together.</p><p>Sleepy Cat had long been Eorzea's reclusive hero: A kind-hearted, driven young miqo'te White Mage who was still uncertain about herself, much less her destiny and her rise to prominence. Through countless trials and bitter victories, the Scions of the Seventh Dawn prove to be her stalwart alllies, but one woman in particular never travels far from Sleepy's thoughts. But by the time she manages to steel herself enough to admit her feelings to Y'shtola... it proves to be too late.</p><p>Many moons after that horrible night, Sleepy once again walks the sands of her homeland of Thanalan, a woman changed. On a quiet morning in Ul'dah, she tells her tale to a longtime confidant: a tale of loss, of love, and of hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 01

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is my... first published fanfic ever. Literally. It's incomplete (missing two more chapters, about) and assumes some familiarity with the source material (as well as containing some moderate spoilers for 3.0) and I basically have no idea what I'm getting myself into by posting this here... at all... but I want to get myself some exposure. How well can one hone their talents in a vacuum, right?
> 
> I've been working on this for the better part of a month or so. It was planned to be part of a much larger work, but for personal reasons that turned out to be rather too ambitious. I've instead bundled up the two (soon three) stories I've written and bridged them with a (hopefully...) fairly believable exchange between Sleepy Cat (my OC) and Momodi. What started as a little joke to myself (and a decision to stop maining WHM) sprouted into a series of events that continued to feed into one another until writing this came as natural as breathing.
> 
> Anyways, I've said enough. Here's my story about my ridiculously named miqo'te. Let me know what you think.

The Quicksand was unusually still this morning.

  
Its normally bustling tables, bars and walkways were almost barren, populated by just a few of the regular patrons and staff, all minding their own. The sun had barely begun to peek over the towering walls of Ul'dah; in the hours after the last drunk had wandered out onto the streets or into an inn room, and before the morning rush of merchants, adventurers and trade workers.

  
Momodi watched the familiar looking miqo'te woman seated in front of her with a sense of expectation. It had been some time since the Scions' own Warrior of Light had decided to pay her a visit, and as usual she had opted to remain as obfuscated as possible. Many in Thanalan, and until recently even Momodi herself, had envisioned her as a young and accomplished White Mage clad in traditionally white robes, with rosewood red hair cut to just above her cheeks, which were smudged still with old face paint; hope in her eyes and purpose in her step.

  
The woman before her seemed an entirely different person. Black and gold greaves and gauntlets, a wine red travelling jacket and a sword: more a wedge of highly decorated steel strapped to her back. Her hair had grown out to below her shoulders, her old wheat blonde highlights streaking along the ends, and her cheeks were now clean. The only adornment on her face being the golden circlet which sat around her forehead. Her unmistakable odd eyes: one orange, one yellow; as well as the slight scar along her face from some long-forgotten scuffle, were the only clues they had ever been the same person.

  
The miqo'te's ears scanned the room for something, twitching a little, turning like little reciever dishes. She brought herself closer to the bar, folding her tail over her thigh and letting out a long and weary sigh. “You said you’d lend your ear, should I need it?” she asked, her voice still deep and soft as the day the two had met. “Now seems as good a time as any.”

  
The diminutive lalafell behind the bar smiled knowingly. Being Ul'dah’s sympathetic ear wasn’t actually in her job description (which she had written herself), and at times Momodi  regretted acting like it was, but more often than not it proved to be a valuable source of both information and entertainment alike. This, in particular, was a rare opportunity.

  
“I was beginning to wonder when you’d open up to me, Sleepy Cat,” she said affectionately in a high and youthful voice, setting down a cup and reaching for a wine bottle.

  
“Not that one. Harder," Sleepy Cat said, just as her small fingers closed around the bottleneck.

  
Momodi had a hard time hiding her confusion, slowly moving her hand away and reaching instead for a rough-hewn bottle that looked like it had been plucked from a volcano, and presenting it to Sleepy Cat, who was not previously known for her fondness for hard liquor. Sleepy gave a small nod, and Momodi, still wondering what else she’d be learning today, poured her drink. “So you’ll forgive my forwardness,” she said, setting the bottle down, “but I’m beginnin' to suspect what happened at that banquet wasn’t pleasant.”

  
They both knew the answer to that. But whereas Momodi had only seen Sleepy, dressed in formal fineries and walking away with two borrowed cups ‘for a friend’ before she had disappeared, Sleepy had had no choice but to witness every horrible second of the affair, to live its aftermath. The day she was falsely accused of regicide, the day she was chased from the lands she had called home all her life. She grasped her drink, visibly trying to remain strong in the face of her memories. “Not at all,” she said gravely, watching the liquid in her cup.

  
Momodi had remembered something. “I’m hopin’ you at least got to have that little talk with your friend like you wanted?”

  
Sleepy’s eyes seemed to fixate at some point in the distance as she heard the question. In her mind, she was in the dark waterways again, freezing water at her ankles, pursued like an animal. Turquoise eyes met with hers. Her eyes. She’d never see them again. She wanted to scream, to plead to her, anything but this, anything but leaving you. Panic took her voice.

  
She downed her entire drink in one go, swallowing hard, letting the burning sensation fill her mind as it did her throat, coughing into the crook of her elbow. Normally, she would be able to ask Y'shtola some inane question, just to hear the reassuring melody of her voice, or hold her hand on some occasions; something that grounded her, let her know that she was there, that she was real. This and her memories would have to suffice.

  
“Oh,” Momodi said softly, slowly replacing the bottle. Sleepy held up her hand.

  
“Eventually,” she said softly, a sad smile slowly forming on her lips, “But not that night. That night, I thought I had lost everything. In a way, I had. So I started over,” she said, seeming to indicate herself as she let her head hang. She glossed over her exile to Ishgard, the sleepless nights spent crying and screaming in her inn room, pining for her home, her friends. The chill that never truly left her.

  
The darkness that stirred within her. Her ever constant companion, now.

  
“But I did tell her. Eventually, sh-- they, came back to me,” she said, realising she had never really admitted even the slightest information to Momodi besides the fact she had feelings for… someone she worked with. She looked up, and saw Momodi smiling back, clearly hedging her bets.

  
“So… how’d that go?”


	2. 02

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first actual work I'd written. Set after Lost in the Lifestream, the premise was that Sleepy Cat had found out she'd developed feelings for Y'shtola sometime after the 2.0 questline. A combination of her.. social ineptitude (she was an orphan flitting around refugee camps before the Calamity, and preferred books to people for a long time) and the constant pressure of her role within the Scions left her increasingly burnt out, to the point where immediately before the banquet in 2.5, she wants to have one less thing to worry about just as much as she wants Y'shtola to know her feelings. Since that turned out... poorly, newly exiled and completely friendless Sleepy Cat falls into despair, locks herself in an inn room and believes that her friends in the Scions, and Y'shtola, are all dead, and that a combination of her own weakness and Alphinaud's grievous mishandling of a private army were to blame. She eventually lets herself out into the streets of Ishgard long enough to become a Dark Knight, and finds she has no shortage of power to draw upon. After struggling with her Darkside and eventually accepting it as part of her self, she puts aside her disdain for Alphinaud long enough to throw herself at the world again, seeking to either better the world or die in the process.
> 
> Eventually, after some time and at least one major character death, Sleepy learns Y'shtola might actually still be alive, something she'd struggled to even comprehend before. However, in the bind that she is, Gridanian aid is needed, and Sleepy drops everything and runs herself all the way there, as she did a long time ago to become a White Mage... which was yet another happening in a list of cosmic parallels.
> 
> Anyways, after some time spent recovering herself (she ran cross country in full plate, I mean), Sleepy figures that she needs to see this through to the end, no matter what the answer may be.

There was a soft knock upon Y'shtola’s inn room door.

  
“Enter!”

  
Sleepy Cat slowly opened the door and stepped inside. Her hair was still an unruly mess of spikes, but she had finally set aside her armor, opting to dust off her old casual vest and gaskins, which still smelled faintly of the desert.  Her face paints, which she had applied so many lonely nights ago in mourning, were now also a thing of the past. Her cheeks had a soft glow to them in the firelight, and if Y'shtola had had her eyes open, she would have noticed the faintest freckles along them.

  
“Sleepy,” Y'shtola spoke softly, eyes still closed as she lay unmoving in the bed. She had laid here for the better part of four days, recovering from her ordeal. It took a strong individual to survive being thrown into the Lifestream, and Y'shtola, though exhausted, had seemingly come out none the worse for wear. “To what do I owe this visit?” Sleepy looked bewildered, looking around as if she were the victim of some prank.

  
“Wait, h-how’d you know?” she inquired.

  
“Well, if memory serves, you would be the only one amongst present company to seek entrance. Mithra has gone for the night, and one needs no eyes to see how exhausted poor Tataru was…” Y'shtola’s eyes opened; they were now silver to match her hair. They seemed almost ethereal, but they were every bit her own. Her lips curled upwards slightly. “That leaves you.”

  
Sleepy could only smile wearily, taking Y'mithra’s old seat by her bedside. The conjurer slowly turned her head towards Sleepy, her eyes seeming to take in everything at once.

  
Memories rolled through Sleepy’s mind as the enormity of the night drew upon her. The ruined inn room in Ishgard, where she had mourned for Y'shtola. Bloodied knuckles and splintered wood. Screaming and wailing into pillows until her voice was hoarse. Haruchefant. Garlemald and the Ascians. The darkness inside her.

  
Then, slowly, she remembered other things. Tataru’s unwavering optimism. Sidurgu, ever brooding, humbled by the moogles. Ishgard’s ongoing plight. Howling in triumph from the top of the world. The faintest whispers of the voice of Hydaelyn. Everything, everything she had been through since that horrible night. The night she thought she had lost it all, the night some dark purpose drove the shell of her body forward, step by step. Even still, she felt as though she was merely hundreds of little pieces, glued back together.

  
“Your weariness is evident, my friend.” Y'shtola's voice was as a melody to her.

  
Sleepy closed her eyes, sighing. “We’ve… been through a lot since…” She choked up, gripping her knees, and the walls came crashing down at long last.

  
“Y'shtola, I… I thought you dead…" Tears rolled down her cheeks; much to her surprise, she had some left to spare. "Tataru, Alphinaud, they tried to reach out to me. They never lost hope, but I just…” She shuddered, old pains coursing back through her blood. The chill of Ishgard ran through her still. “I pushed them away. I couldn’t go on. Everything had been taken from me, Y'shtola… my home, my friends, my–”

  
She cut herself off, looking down, biting her lip. She collected herself the slightest bit before continuing. “All I had left was myself. And.. that did something to me. There was a power inside me, deep and dark and terrible, yet I came to embrace it, to call it my own. I fought ever onward, pushed myself farther than ever I had before, tried to set the wrong things right, but… each victory felt empty, without you.” Sleepy glanced up at Y'shtola, who now sat up along the side of the bed, empathetic eyes fixed towards her friend. She slowly reached her hand out, Sleepy’s eyes fixing wide on it, following it as it rested against her cheek.

  
She had caught herself daydreaming occasionally, in simpler days, what holding Y'shtola's hand would have felt like.  Here, they were as soft and reassuring as she would have imagined. Sleepy made no sound as the tears began to flow again, tracing wet lines over Y'shtola’s fingers. She shut her eyes tight, trembling through her words. “The night of the banquet, Y'shtola, do you remember? I... dressed up, I bought that stupid staff, and…”

  
“You bowed towards me, nearly toppled over and inquired how I thought you looked,” Y'shtola finished her sentence, a soft smile crossing her lips as she remembered the high point of that evening, for once. “And said I, "You’d not look out of place on the throne”. Her hand left Sleepy’s cheek, coming to rest on her shoulder.

  
“I... wanted to tell you something that night…”

  
Y'shtola’s head tilted slowly to one side, but she remained quiet, and Sleepy thought  almost... expecting? Impossible. She eventually relented to the silence. “I bought us some wine, and I had planned to invite you out onto the balcony, and I... I just had a lot to say to you. I always have.  I mean, between everything that happened, I just didn’t know when I would be able to tell you how I f–”

  
Sleepy was suddenly cut off by the conjurer’s lips pushing against hers. She gasped, eyes wide in shock, and her heart skipped a beat. Y'shtola seemed to notice this, but she pressed on, and Sleepy quickly came to press right back. She had dreamed of this, thought it lost forever, shivering as ache and need rose from her heart again, her insides a mess of knots slowly being burned apart. A soft groan escaped her as Y'shtola’s fingertips brushed along the back of her neck, Sleepy's pulse pounding into her palm. She had given up on holding back her tears long ago, salt playing along both their lips, but the kiss remained unbroken. What had felt like years of torment subsided, gave way to joy and relief, and satisfaction.

  
Y'shtola pulled away slowly, and spoke. “You are many things, Sleepy. Never were you subtle.”

  
Sleepy Cat blushed terribly, for the first time in an age. The taste of Y'shtola's lips lingered against hers, a sensation she never thought she would feel. “What does… this mean?” she asked, biting her lip, leaning a little closer, silently aching for more.  
Y'shtola’s voice carried a twinge of sadness. “I cannot say. Naught is certain in Eorzea… but then, that is what bid you come tonight, is it not?” She looked down towards her friend’s lap thoughtfully. “Perhaps... it is best to see where life takes us,” she said, and placed her hand atop Sleepy’s. “Both of us.”

  
Sleepy Cat paused for a moment. The storm inside her had finally begun to fade, and it was a wondrous feeling. Everything felt right again. She nearly wanted to jump up and down, scream and yell, but these had been days of rest for both of them, and Sleepy would need a bit more time still to process this.

  
Sleepy remembered something suddenly. Something that had haunted her. “Your last… no, your words… in the waterway. To ensure dawn’s light survive to brighten the morrow, you said… were you speaking of me?”

  
Y'shtola was silent, as if lost in a sudden thought. Soon, however, a wry smile played across her lips. “Tell you, and ruin the mystery?”

  
The dark knight laughed, a grin spreading across her face. Gods, it felt good to laugh again, she thought. She leaned forward and pulled Y'shtola into an embrace, one she happily returned.

  
The dawn’s light, and her flame in the abyss.


	3. 03

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the exchange in the previous chapter, it seemed only right that Sleepy Cat's lack of social graces meant that anyone paying attention the night of the banquet would have put two and two together, were they familiar. There was a part of the larger work that outlined Y'shtola's feelings about this (and another part that outlined the reasoning behind her slight change of heart in Heavensward), but since they are lost to time and I'm three stories deep into this, it's probably fated to the footnotes. A shame, because it was a lot of fun puzzling out the possible motivations for and against, though the next parts do contain a bit of justification on Y'shtola's side of things. It makes it a bit potentially messy, but what relationship isn't?

Sleepy looked down at her cup wistfully, her cheeks still glowing simply from the memory.

  
“I knew it was Y'shtola!” Momodi said to herself with a wicked grin. Sleepy’s eyes shot up to her and her cheeks went redder, ancient frustrations working their way to the surface.

  
“No you didn’t!” she groaned into her gauntlets. “Nobody bloody knew!”

  
“Oh, c'mon!” Momodi said, all smiles. “I knew you wanted to be more'n just study buddies, the way you were carryin' on that night! Hells, even she knew! You said it yourself!”

  
Sleepy wailed pitifully, placing her cup in front of Momodi as she put her head down on the bar.

  
“I’ll pour you somethin’ lighter to celebrate,” she said happily, browsing amongst the bottles of her favoured stock. Her demeanour fell the slightest bit, however, and she looked up at Sleepy. She wasn’t the first to enter with a large sword and claims of dark powers. Momodi had even had to kick a few of the more brash ones out, or have the Brass Blades do it for her.

  
Sleepy sensed this hesitation, looking up a little to see concern work its way into Momodi’s face.

  
“How are you holding up, though?” she asked. “I’ve heard similar things about darkness 'n such from much unrulier sorts, an’ I just wanna make sure you’re doin’ alright.”

  
Sleepy seemed to take stock of herself momentarily. “I’m well, thank you,” she said after a pause, certain of herself. Momodi believed it.

  
“Okay, next question: what exactly happened up there in Ishgard? I heard all sorts of nonsense rumours… even some about you, come to think of it!”

  
“About me?” Sleepy sounded surprised, almost offended, as if she was a ghost to the realm and someone had dared glimpse her at her most vulnerable.

  
“I heard talk about some miqo'te girl with a huge sword having a fallin’ out with some Temple Knights,” she said. “Then the Crystal Braves, then the Heavens’ Ward?” She sounded uncertain of what would even compromise a Heavens’ Ward, but continued. “And then I heard you went after the Archbishop himself! Sounds from here like the whole godsdamned place set you off!”

  
Sleepy narrowed her eyes. If there were three things she hated, they were the cold, traitors, and schemers. She’d managed to soundly beat two out of three, at least. “Tell me what you heard, and I’ll tell you if it’s true,” she offered, leaning forward.  
A spirited back and forth took place as the Quicksand begun to reacquaint itself with its patrons. Sleepy handled most of the more egregious rumours carefully, checking over her shoulders before divulging certain things. She played down her wholesale slaughter of a Crystal Braves detachment nea Halatali, or the other times she had.. lost her temper, so to speak. Those were the hardest.

  
“I thought you would take a little more pride in your work,” her darkside chided from within, borrowing her voice. She ignored it.

  
Still others, such as the floating islets of the Sea of Clouds, the Allagan ruin of Azys Lla, the talk of revolution in Ishgard and the secrets of the Holy See, had to be treated with a little more respect. Haruchefant’s death was mentioned as well, and the two shared a drink to his memory. She had not mourned long for him, as seemed his wish, but he was now just another in a list of those she fought in the memory of. A list she quietly prayed never gained another name.

  
How close had she been to losing Y'shtola? To the rest of her friends? It was still strange to let herself hope to see any more of the Scions again, but after she had watched as Y'shtola was pulled from the Lifestream, after she had fallen to her knees, crying…  
She let herself take some small amount of pride in having the strength to protect them, now. To protect Eorzea, as well as fight for it.

  
As Momodi took a moment to set out drink orders for the tables, Sleepy took a moment to lose herself in her thoughts. One night, in particular, stood out in her mind.


	4. 04

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My second actual work, and probably the longest to date.
> 
> Sleepy's got to spend a little time with her friend-now-sort-of-girlfriend, which included nearly dropping her sword as Y'shtola annihilated a horde of goblins in a show of magical fortitude, beating up books instead of reading them, and catching Y'shtola thinking out loud once or twice. A mention of her time spent in the Lifestream kicked this one off: the feeling of holding yourself together or facing possible annihilation resonates with the Dark Knight all too well, and Sleepy aches to know if Y'shtola can lend some insight into how best to keep her Darkside from consuming her.
> 
> Y'shtola, on the other hand, is journeying through uncharted territory in her relationship with Sleepy, and is faced with the realization that she's slowly killing herself in order to see the world around her, the Lifestream having robbed her of conventional sight. Sleepy already reacted... less than favorably to her perceived death. Now that she could very possibly die for real, she has a few concerns of her own that need voicing.
> 
> Additionally, I begin experimenting with the "darkside as a consciousness" track of writing. Granted, I'm going off of given in-game lore with some thoughts towards FFIV, but at this point her emotions and herself are still not entirely meshed together. As such, it's ambiguous whether they will meld in time, or struggle against each other until Sleepy gives it up, submits or dies.
> 
> The justification I have for Sleepy's gifts of wine bottles somehow miraculously surviving staying in a public inn entirely untouched is: in her early Dark Knight days, she would lose herself in her grief and agony and would sometimes end up trashing the place up a little. It was closed for repairs, okay. You try prying a claymore out of a solid wood table. (she always overpaid for her inn room read the damn story)

Sleepy Cat opened the door of her old inn room at the Forgotten Knight, and was immediately hit by a wave of something not unlike relief.

  
At first, she hated the place. The drab walls, the creaky old bed, the view of the cold, unfamiliar streets of Ishgard. It was her prison, her own personal hell. Night after night she would wake up screaming, or crying, or both, whispering the names of her lost friends in mourning, always cold, always alone. As things moved forward, it simply became a reprieve from the outside world, a place she chose to stay and meditate. Some nights, she would be sure to slip the innkeep another ridiculous sum for damages after particularly deep introspections.

  
Now, thankfully, it was just an inn room that had bore witness to a sordid history. She ran her hands along the sheets of the bed for a moment, choosing to flop down unceremoniously on it, beginning the process of taking off her armor as one would tiredly fumble at an alarm clock.

  
She rolled over and stared up at the ceiling, knocking her gauntlets to the ground with a loud clatter. Her now bare fingertips idly fumbled with the details of her favorite dhamelskin jacket as she lost herself in thought. Things were moving forward much faster than she had expected, now. Y'shtola’s return had offered her ample time to catch her breath, but even then, fate loomed in the background.

  
Her mind returned to Azys Lla. She had only glimpsed the enormous mass of Allagan ruins jutting out of broken, scattered landmasses, hanging in the air as if some natural part of the planet. Undoubtedly, the time spent away from it allowed her enemies ample time to lay claim to the land. It would not be an easy task to dislodge them.

  
A familiar feeling roiled within her, and a voice began to form in her ears. “And again, we are in Ishgard.” it said impassively, taking her voice as it always did.

  
Sleepy made a low groaning sound in offence, as if someone had just poured offal onto the fireplace.

  
“Alone, I might add. What a horrible evening.” There was a hint of gentle mocking in her darkside tonight. “At least there will be little cause for you to begin weeping again.”

  
Sleepy let out the same sound, only louder. “Oh, Hells take me if I’m spending tonight with you!” She immediately activated her linkpearl, rolling over as if to snub herself. “Wedge. Hey, can you do me a favor? Only if she’s not busy…”  
  


* * *

  
  
Y'shtola let herself into Sleepy’s room, as instructed. It was well past the time most people were awake, but she knew Sleepy well enough that she believed the girl had a few more hours left in her. True to form, she had just finished shoving more wood into the fireplace. She looked up from the roaring fire, a smile on her face.

  
“Y'shtola! Welcome to… um,” She flailed around a bit, gesturing at the room as if it was worthy of being gestured at. “It’s not exactly up to Gridanian standards, but I figured we could… catch up a bit more.”

  
“I have a feeling that isn’t all you want to do,” Y'shtola smiled knowingly, leaning against the door as it closed. She watched Sleepy Cat cover her face, always enjoying the scene.

  
“Uhhh, no! I mean yes! Not… quite…” The dark knight’s cheeks were especially vibrant tonight. “I mean… I did have some things to ask you. But I figured if you’d finished, why not… spare you the inn fees!” She offered, eyes nervously darting about. “Besides, now that we’ve gotten the mushy stuff.. out of the way…”

  
“You were keen to discuss other, more scholarly things?” Y'shtola cocked her head.

  
“Well… yes.” There was a slight tone of defeat in her voice. Sleepy knew by now that she was an open book to Y'shtola, who was ever the voracious reader; it never stopped her from trying to dance around the point as she had always done. She had no more use attempting subtlety. “There’s something I need to ask you, besides which side of the bed you’d like.”

  
“Something grave, I gather.” Sleepy winced at the prediction, feeling Y'shtola’s gaze upon her. Like an open book, she thought.

  
Sleepy sat down on a chair facing the fireplace. “It would only concern you in… an ancillary manner? But as it turns out.. you recently acquired expertise I… believe I could use.” She patted the other chair, welcoming her friend over. Y'shtola frowned, but took her seat, turning to face the fire, looking steadily more serious.

  
“I spoke before of my time lost in the aether, and t'was an ill place to conceive of naught more than survival. You cannot tell me you mean to draw from my experience?”

  
Sleepy was silent. She turned away, staring at her feet. There was always something to pique Y'shtola’s interest in her, but there was something far more foreboding about this request.

  
“Sleepy, I would know what has happened to you.”

  
“That power I told you about, before…” Sleepy hesitated, before considering the alternative. “After I thought you..." She paused, leaning forward a little. "I followed the teachings of Dark Knights. In doing such, I became one of considerable talent. I scare believe I need to tell you what that means.”

  
Y'shtola processed this for but a moment, her facial expression betraying nothing of her feelings on the matter. “That would explain the sudden shift in your aether,” she mumbled, as if cataloging her suspicions. “Full well have I known you to radiate warmth, and passion. When we fought together, it was as if a switch had been flipped. The same light shone through, but as if filtered through something.”

  
“My darkside,” Sleepy said, grimly. “Something born of my own…” She struggled for a moment to find a word, faltering. “My emotions. It sought to… become me, at first, but since then it has lived in me, peacefully. We… we work in tandem. It is not so much that I fear it trying to take me over again, but–” Sleepy turned to Y'shtola, the conjurer's face clearly showing concern, but a bitter, knowing smile upon her lips. Sleepy turned her eyes towards the fire, ashamed.

  
“T'would seem we both thought to invoke things beyond our power to control,” she sighed, closing her eyes and turning back to the flames. “Yet... you would seem to have the better handle on such matters. I needn’t remind you which of us required rescue.”  
Sleepy bit her lip. “When you said you needed to cling to your very essence to prevent it being scattered to the aether, I could imagine all too well what you meant. I wanted to know how you… kept yourself together, in the face of that.”

  
Silence hung in the air, interspersed with the crackling of flame. Y'shtola stared intently into the heat of the fire.

  
“I'm sorry. You don’t need to talk a–”

  
“I would scarce have you subjected to the same trials as me!” Y'shtola cut in harshly, her face lined with empathy. Sleepy was taken by surprise, and in the midst of her shock, she felt her heart ache slightly, humbled by her friend's concern. Y'shtola took a moment to let her feelings settle, before continuing. “Thinking of those close to you, or those who depend on you, will not do. Your thoughts must be directed inward, to your self. To what you know forms the basis of you. Something with meaning, that you may cling to, repeat over and over to yourself.”

  
Sleepy watched Y'shtola’s face, nodding slightly. “What did you.. tell yourself?”

  
Y'shtola simply shook her head. “I respectfully decline to say. The words must be formed of your own experiences. Far be it from me to color them, in any way.”

  
Sleepy let out a thoughtful sigh, slowly mulling over the words for a moment. “I thank you, Y'shtola. Pray… don’t worry about me.” She looked at her friend, smiling sheepishly.

  
“I do not,” she replied lightly, looking to restore a bit of levity to the mood. “If our time apart has taught me anything, it is that any fear for your well being has no foundation to stand on.”

  
Sleepy chuckled softly, brushing her hair back, playing off of Y'shtola. “Oh… do go on.”

  
“You don’t strike me as the sort for needless flattery,” Y'shtola said with a smirk.

  
“Oh!”

  
Sleepy’s eyes lit up as she gasped, and she immediately leapt from the chair and dived onto the bed, reaching behind it. She let out a squeal of delight as she dragged something up from behind the rearmost bedpost, Y'shtola only hearing a sloshing sound. “Come, here!” Sleepy said, barely able to contain her excitement.

  
“Now, what’s stirred you so?” Y'shtola slowly rose from the chair, crossing over to sit on the bed beside Sleepy.

  
“Ta-da!!” Sleepy presented a quarter-drunk bottle of wine with a flourish. “I, um… I wanted to share this with you back at the banquet… I couldn’t really bring myself to drink all of it without you, so…” She pulled the stopper out of it, offering it up. “If you would like to do the honours of taking the next drink?”

  
Y'shtola took the wine bottle up and took a slow drink from it, noting the flavour immediately. “This is… Bacchus?" A soft grin spread across her lips as she shook her head. "You certainly weren’t subtle about your wine choice, least of all!” She passed the bottle over and allowed herself a very indulgent giggle. Sleepy threatened to out-blush the wine as she savored the next slow drink from the bottle, finally allowing herself to draw pleasure from the taste.  
  


* * *

  
  
“Down to the last,” Sleepy said, almost glumly. She leaned against Y'shtola and raised the bottle. “I propose a toast,” she continued, raising the bottle in the air, taking a moment longer than usual to think as Y'shtola’s head slowly settled against hers. “To… ugh, help me out here.”

  
Y'shtola closed her eyes, ruminating on the matter. “To many more joyous reunions… and to those who shall not return," she mused quietly.

  
Sleepy nodded solemnly, Y'shtola’s hair tickling against her cheek. “To the Scions… To our friends.” She took a swift drink, passing the remainder over, watching Y'shtola down the last of it. She set the bottle upon the floor, letting it clatter over against the previous one.

  
“Shtola?” Sleepy whispered to the conjurer after a pause, once again testing the waters. Their cheeks began to touch, ever so slightly.

  
Y'shtola wondered when she would figure out that little custom. “Yes, Sleepy?”

  
“What we’re doing is… big, isn’t it?”

  
The conjurer smiled. “Do you refer to Azys Lla, or our continuing relationship?” Sleepy’s heart ached a little. It felt good to hear her call it that. It felt real.

  
“Both, I mean. I just… can scarce believe everything is happening like this. I remember hoping I could spend a while yet in Gridania with you. Like getting you back would… make things less complicated.”

  
Y'shtola couldn’t help but giggle. “Sleepy, when has my presence been known to do aught besides slow things down? Sometimes, I wonder if you know me as well as you believe to!”

  
Sleepy wasn’t laughing. “I do, too,” she said, eyes fixed on the bottle, slowly leaning away.

  
Y'shtola hadn’t expected that. Her face flickered from indignation, to hurt, to concern. “I… admit to being quite hard to know. It has been a part of me, always.”

  
“You care about me, Y'shtola. I know that.” Sleepy sighed, her hand slowly trailing along the conjurer’s thigh, fingers idly tracing patterns into her masterwork thighboots. “I’m allowed to care about you too. To know what goes on in here.” She gently tapped her temple to emphasise.

  
Y'shtola looked away, silent. Much goes on in here, she wanted to say, but where could she start? What good could come from telling Sleepy that, after she had believed her dead, it was entirely possible that she actually would be before too long? Had she not suffered enough?

  
When she finally spoke, it was weighted with remorse. “Sleepy, what would you do were I to tell you that come the morrow, no matter what you did, I would die?”

  
The question hit Sleepy Cat like a sack of bricks. Her mind begun to travel back to the waterway. She fought the memory with all her might, letting out a shaky sigh, her hand grasping Y'shtola’s as if she would disappear if she let go. Despite her best efforts, tears began to form in her eyes, and her body ached. “The morrow?” Sleepy said quietly. She exhaled shakily, sliding closer to Y'shtola, planting her mind firmly in the now. “That is less time than I would need..."

  
Y'shtola, however, let her mind wander back to the waterway freely; to the last sights she ever saw. Minfilia, for who she simply upheld her promise for, duty bound. And behind her, just as affected, was Sleepy Cat.

  
She was radiant, as ever, looking for all the world as if torn from a storybook. Her face was twisted into pain and pleading, the look in her eyes screaming what she could not. “Please, don’t do this.” Her heart broke more with each passing second. The next words Y'shtola spoke would crush them, both, but there was no other alternative. Her plan was the only way any of them would get out of Ul'dah. The only way Sleepy could carry on the Scions’ struggle. Sleepy had to understand how important she was.

  
Y'shtola shivered, returning to the present.

  
“It is more time than you may think,” she said, desperately seeking to replace the memory with anything else, barely registering as Sleepy swung her leg over her knees, sitting herself firmly in Y'shtola’s lap. Her vision suddenly filled with her light as she felt Sleepy’s lips press desperately against hers, still tasting of wine, and the pressure of her hands on her cheeks. Just as her hands began to hold her in support, she was pushed down against the bed, willingly letting her body give under Sleepy Cat, feeling her breath at her cheek.

  
“If I must lose you again, then let my last memories of you be sweeter than they were,” came a trembling whisper, filled with a barely restrained need. “No more wondering what could have been. Please, Shtola.”

  
Y'shtola felt something drip down along her cheek as Sleepy’s breathing became more ragged. If she had felt Sleepy’s pain from the aether, how strong would it be were she to let her any closer? If her darkside nearly consumed her in her absence, what would consume her when she died? She had to know she could persevere.

  
“You must be able to let me go,” Y'shtola pleaded quietly, wrapping her arms around Sleepy to keep her still. She felt her gaze into her eyes, trembling in her embrace.

  
Despite her voice breaking, the dark knight spoke with finality. “Not without saying goodbye.”

  
Their lips met again, Y'shtola’s last reservations melting away, at least for the night. She found a gentle groan left her throat as the kiss became deeper, passion running between them both like a current. Her hands explored Sleepy’s face, fingers running through her hair, thumbs tracing over her big, bright smile, committing all she touched to memory. She allowed herself to return the smile with her own, touching her forehead to Sleepy Cat’s.

 

* * *

  
Y'shtola listened to Sleepy’s steady breaths as she lay slumbering, quietly cataloging her own thoughts as she held the dark knight's hand in hers. They had come much closer than ever she expected tonight, and while some part of her still felt the thrill of it all, another felt an immense guilt. It was too close, she reasoned.

  
She walked too dangerous a path to keep her that close. She found herself still worried whether the woman could find any peace without her. And a woman as important as she, with a woman in so grave a predicament as herself…

  
She couldn’t tell her. Especially not after tonight. She would just have to settle for hoping everything would work out for the best. It had worked before, somewhat.

  
She turned to Sleepy, now remembering her youthful smile, her brilliant eyes as she watched her aetherflow. The quiet and diminutive White Mage, once. She could scarce believe the strength that lay within her now, the passion she burned with. A passion she now feared would destroy Sleepy, when her own luck finally ran out. Though in Sleepy's heart, she had already been dead once, and she had become all the stronger for it. Perhaps there would still be a chance she would understand...

  
The thought allowed her eyes to close, her mind slowly beginning to wind itself down. Azys Lla would put the uncertainty to rest.


End file.
